Plain Hearts
by coolbyrne
Summary: Three victims, one killer?  It never seems that simple for Tony Hill and Carol Jordan.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: Plain Hearts

AUTHOR: coolbyrne

RATING: PG, mature themes, an occasional curse

DISCLAIMER: Of course, I don't own any characters related to Wire in the Blood. No money is being made.

SUMMARY: Three victims, one killer? It never seems that simple for Tony Hill and Carol Jordan.

A/N: Not sure what I really had intended with this fic, as I started it several months ago! I know I meant it to be longer, but the muse left me, and when it finally returned, it wanted to get straight to the ending. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

---

"_Valentine, Valentine, why have you forsaken me?"_

She saw the card pinned to the bra strap and she pressed her fingertips to her eyelids. "Well, this is a hell of a way to wake up at three in the morning." The words formed wisps of white as they left Carol Jordan's mouth and met the cool air of the night. She hugged herself and looked away from the pale body spread out on the damp ground before her. "Where the hell is Tony Hill?" she asked no one in particular.

As if summoned by her words, the black curtain of night opened and, like a spectre, Tony stepped forward.

"Jesus!" Carol exclaimed.

"The streets never seem to look the same in the dark," he said by way of explaining his tardiness.

"And here I was thinking it was because you were doing your hair."

"Hmm?" His gaze went up though he couldn't see the jut of hair Carol's eyes had spotted. He fruitlessly patted it down. "Better?"

"You'll win pageants. Now, what do you make of this?"

Her body turned to the one on the ground and Tony followed suit. Standing beside her, he tucked his cold hands into his pockets and wondered about the lifeless form resting among the short grass of the quiet park. The skin, no doubt once admired for its ivory beauty was now waxy in its complexion, and the cold gave the body such an odd blue-grey sheen that the white lacy bra and panties stood out in sharp relief. His eyes covered the body without emotion, his purpose only to catalogue it. Female, brunette, mid-to-late 30's. Ten stone. Height undetermined based on the current position. No obvious sign of trauma.

The pathologist read his mind. Turning the head of the corpse, he revealed a large gash at the base of the skull. "I would think this did the trick."

Carol shook her head. "Any idea what the weapon might be?"

"Nothing definite, but based on the depth, I'd say something heavy, or the person who committed this crime was quite strong. I'll know more once I open up the skull."

Grimacing, Carol asked, "Time of death?"

"Again, just speculation, but even with the surroundings, the body was quite warm when we found her," the older man answered. "Body temperature puts the death no later than six hours ago."

With a slight nod of her head, she stepped back and let the pathologist get back to work. She watched as the body was carefully placed in the sterile bag and raised onto the gurney, where a team of two pushed it towards the waiting vehicle. The doors closed, she turned to Tony, who was staring off into the distance.

"Earth to Tony?"

"Why take her clothes off?" he asked.

Having grown accustomed to his abrupt trains of thought, Carol easily fell into mental step. "We might find out when the rape kit comes back." She looked back down to where the body had been. "Funny, my first thought was what the hell did the card mean?"

Tony frowned. "It's late, isn't it?"

"You mean the holiday or right now?" Before he could answer, she went on, "Yes, to both. Valentine's Day was a month ago. And it's almost half three."

He nodded absently at the reply, then froze. "I did get you something, didn't I?"

"For Valentine's Day?"

"Yes."

"Yes. A lovely bouquet of violets."

"The flower shop was out of roses by the time I remembered," he admitted.

"Let me pretend it was a lovely non-traditional gesture on your part instead, yeah?"

He looked suitably embarrassed. "Yeah." Letting an appropriate amount of silence pass at his apology, he then asked, "What _does_ the card mean?"

--

"Glad one of us was able to sleep," Carol remarked as Tony walked into the police room.

"I was in bed; didn't mean I slept," he replied as he patted down his traitorous hair. He looked at the photos stuck to the whiteboard where they would scrawl out evidence and theories, and ultimately –hopefully –the answer. "There've been two others?"

"Yep," Carol answered. "Though we're not even certain they're connected. All found in different areas, different ages, two brunettes and a blonde. And the card on the last victim is a new thing."

He indicated the photos. "It's the bra and underpants that makes you wonder." All these images, despite their difference in surroundings and victim characteristics, had one thing in common –each revealed a body laid out on her back, bereft of clothing down to her underwear.

"Why take the clothes off?" Carol asked, echoing Tony's own question from the crime scene.

"Perhaps they were worried they left evidence behind. Blood, hair. Maybe it was a trophy. Something the killer could keep to maintain their relationship with the victim. Tell me about these other two and I'll tell you more."

"Michelle Gallagher. Fifty-six, married. Victim of a hit-and-run six months ago."

"Well that explains the lack of clothing- removal of evidence."

"Victoria Morrison. Thirty-three, also married. Found four months ago in a car park near St. James Church. Cause of death was blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Last night, Pamela Moore, age 36, according to her driving permit. Kevin's tracking down the particulars and notifying next of kin if there is any."

"Did the pathologist say anything more about cause of death?"

"No," Carol replied, "it's too early to get anything out of him. He did send some preliminary photos over, no doubt to keep me from hounding him." She reached for a file on the nearby table, pulled out a small pile of 5x7s and, one by one, attached them to the board, underneath the photo of Pamela Moore.

Tony took some time looking at them before he spoke. He tapped the photo of the last two victims. "Marks on the heels."

"Indicating they were killed elsewhere and dragged to where they were found. Lack of blood at the scene supports that theory."

He nodded at her assessment. "Also indicates someone underestimated the weight of a dead body."

"Or someone small. A woman, perhaps?"

He pursed his lips. "Women serial killers are extremely rare, and in Britain, almost non-existent. When one does surface, they tend to be part of a male/female pairing. Myra Hindley or Rosemary West, for instance."

"So maybe she's working with someone, but part of that relationship requires her to do the disposing," Carol ventured. "A dominant/submissive relationship." When she saw his eyebrow lift, she smiled. "Give me some credit, yeah? I _have_ been paying attention to you all these years."

Seemingly satisfied with her answer, he cocked his head to the side and asked, "The head wound was the only sign of trauma with the last two victims?"

"Looks like it, yeah," she agreed.

He leaned forward and re-examined the pictures belonging to Michelle Gallagher. "Was she facing the vehicle that hit her or did she have her back to it?"

Carol pulled the information from her memory. "Bruising and the break of the right tibia seemed to indicate she was hit from behind."

Pointing to the other victims, Tony said, "From behind." He let the information settle between them, then mused, "So what is it these women had in common in life that connects them in death?"

On cue, DI Kevin Geoffries entered the room, notebook held aloft. He greeted Tony with a nod of his head and spoke directly to his boss. Not much younger than Carol, he disguised his ambition with a natural laconic cynicism. "Might have the answer to that one for you, guv," he began, and took a black marker from the ledge of the board. Uncapping it with his teeth, he scribbled down three bits of information under each victim's photo. He snapped the cap back on and gave voice to his words. "Michelle Gallagher's husband is a solicitor, Victoria Morrison's is a cop, and Pamela Moore's is a social worker."

Carol nodded at the possibilities. "Do we have anything to connect the husbands?"

"Paula and I are going to go through the files today –try and cross-reference a name between them."

"Good work, Kevin. Let me know if you get anything."

Tony watched as the cop left, then sighed dramatically. "I guess you don't need me."

"No," Carol agreed and echoed his dramatic sigh. "I do however need a coffee. Care to join me?"

--

Her light heartedness evaporated at the sight of the scrawny blond at the foot of the steps outside the police station.

"Not a word," she warned Tony, who nodded his acquiescence despite his lack of understanding. "No comment," she said immediately as the young man approached them.

The two words said it all for Tony and he muttered, "Bloody hell. These people are like cockroaches."

"With ears like an elephant," the budding reporter smiled. "Dr. Hill. Carol. What can you tell me about this case?"

"It's DCI Jordan to you, Mr. Ackers," Carol corrected. "As for the rest, I've already told you –no comment." Her long strides away from him were determined punctuation marks.

"I'll just find out on my own then, shall I?" he called out to the backs of the departing duo.

--

The door of the car clicked shut behind her and, in the security of the small space, she explained, "Danny Ackers. Fresh out of uni and into the sticky arms of the Bradfield Journal. Little bastard's got an instinct for a story. He was there the day after the first murder. I'm sure he's thinking this is a quick ticket to something bigger than Bradfield."

"Why the card, I wonder."

She watched him as he stared intently out the window and she shook her head. "Can we wait until I've got a coffee in front of me?"

--

She savoured the hot beverage before speaking. "So. The card."

"Hmmm? Right, the card." He took a sip of his own drink then continued. "It's unusual to leave a calling card now. No pun intended, of course." She offered a small smile of forgiveness and he went on. "If these three murders are connected, why leave the card now? You're sure there was nothing with the other two bodies?"

"We're not even sure the murders are connected," she admitted. "But no, I'm fairly confident someone would have seen something that obvious."

Tony shrugged. "Perhaps it wasn't that obvious. Perhaps that's why this one was so easy to see –the killer could have left something with the other two that was overlooked. Something small or seemingly insignificant at the time."

"I'll go through the crime scene collection reports again." She lifted her cup. "What will you be doing today?"

He watched her close her eyes at the luxury of the coffee, and he took a moment to appreciate the luxury of looking at her. Just as she opened her eyes, he quickly answered, "Work. I've got patients backlogged to Liverpool, and a hundred and twenty six 10,000 word essays on the breakthroughs of Ivan Pavlov."

"The dogs?" Carol queried.

"The dogs."

She made a face and finished her coffee. "Sounds fascinating," she said, everything in her tone indicating she thought otherwise. She stood up and asked, "You need a lift back to the university?"

"No, I'm fine," he replied. "The walk will do me good."

"The walk will put you even further behind your schedule." At his shrug, she did the same. "Suit yourself. And thanks for the coffee."

"I see," he observed, "that's what you need me for."

Far from the curious eyes of the police station and hidden in the low-lit corner of the coffee shop, she leaned forward and lightly kissed him on the lips. "The company's not half bad, either."

--


	2. Chapter 2

--

"Got anything for me yet, Kevin?" Carol asked as she returned to the squad room.

He gestured helplessly to the various piles on his desk. "There are literally hundreds of files going back at least five years." He sighed at the prospect. "Would've been a hell of a lot easier if this was all on computer. Unfortunately, some of it is, but most of it isn't. So…"

"I'll see you sometime next year?" Kevin mirthlessly laughed at her comment. "I'm afraid it's going to take you even longer, because I'm pulling Paula off."

The young cop and Kevin both exclaimed, "Guv?" at the same time, though Paula's had less frustration in the tone than her co-worker.

"I know it's a pain in the ass, but get one of the constables to help you," Carol told him. "Paula, I want you to go back and look at these cases again, but on the premise they're not related. I've got someone from the press sniffing around and the last thing I need is for us to be spending all our time on one theory when it's something else entirely, yeah?"

Paula nodded. "Sure thing, boss."

Kevin was less than pleased. "But if they are connected and another murder occurs, we've wasted time. How do we explain that to the press then?"

There was something in his tone that hit a wrong note with Carol and she hardened her voice. "Kevin, Paula's not the only other person in this office. Get someone else to help you. I don't care who it is. Or sit this one out. Your choice." When he seemed suitably chastised, she said, "I need to look over the crime scene reports again. We might have missed something."

To her back, Kevin asked, "Is that what Dr. Hill thinks?"

Carol stopped dead in her tracks and willed her face to remain blank, despite the seething burn she felt under her skin. With a controlled turn, she flatly remarked, "Dr. Hill doesn't run this office, Kevin, and neither do you. You'd do well to remember that."

--

"Bloody hell!" she hissed between clenched teeth once the door to her office closed, separating her from the rest of the station. She made a mental note to find out what bug had crawled in Kevin's ear. Ambition she could handle; outright insubordination had a way of undermining her authority and causing cracks in the team. In the meantime, it wasn't as if she didn't have her own tedious job to do. The chair might be cosier, but the job was the same. With a sigh, she found the reports and went to work.

--

It would have made his job a hell of a lot easier if DCI Jordan had agreed to work with him, the young reporter thought. Without her help, he'd have to go the long way round, but where there was a will, there was a way. Or more to the point, where there was a £ to be made, there was always someone willing to talk. He looked down at the crime scene photos and smiled. Twenty quid just bought him his next headline.

--

The affable face of his part-time secretary appeared in the doorway and she softly knocked on the frame. Tony mumbled his acknowledgement, but didn't look up. "Dr. Hill?" she said. "Your 2PM is waiting."

He lifted his eyes from the book and smiled at the brunette. "Thank you, Julie." She nodded and made to leave when the light of realization went off over his head. "It's not Mrs. Williams, is it?"

Julie paused and made a small face. "I'm afraid so. We go through this every week, you know. I can always find her a proper counsellor."

"I know. I just don't know how I'd break it to her. But thank you."

"You're the boss," she shrugged, then left.

--

One of the benefits of having his name connected with the success of the Bradfield police was an increase in clients, because while he enjoyed the academic pursuits more, it was the clients that paid the bills. One of the disadvantages was a general misinformed perception people had of psychologists and psychiatrists- that being, most people didn't know the difference. This included Ruth, his first attempt at a secretary, a fact he was only made aware of when his schedule began to fill with people who wanted to complain about their spouses and talk about their pets. Out of sheer self-preservation, Tony was able to week out the majority of unwanted clients, as well as Ruth, though both were done with a fair measure of guilt on his part, particularly the former. He wasn't inclined to not help someone in need, but he also knew he was doing the very same people a disservice if his heart wasn't in it.

Mrs. Harriet Williams was the last of the bunch and yet he hadn't had the heart to turn her away, or as Julie suggested every week, find her a proper counsellor. And if he was honest, it was one of the few times he could let his mind rest. He wondered if he should start giving her the sessions for free…

It was then that a second knock came from the doorway. Painting a bright smile on his face, he greeted, "Mrs. Williams."

--

Thirty minutes of listening to the ills of the current government, along with those of her cat, Mrs. Williams toddled off to whatever life she led between sessions. Standing up, Tony yawned and stretched, and vigorously rubbed his fingers across his scalp. His hair left slightly askew, he dropped himself into the large chair behind his desk and leaned back.

"What does the card mean?" he asked the ceiling.

"I don't know," came the reply, startling Tony enough that he nearly toppled the chair. Fingers gripped the edge of his desk and he looked over to the door, the real source of the sound. Carol couldn't help but laugh. "Let me know if the ceiling ever answers you, yeah?"

"Carol," he said needlessly. Now comfortably upright and secure, he added, "I get some of my best ideas from the ceiling. All those dots, like a Rorschach test on tiles."

"Mmm-hmm. And what do you see?"

"Nothing but a collection of dots, I'm afraid."

"Well perhaps I can paint a better picture for you," she said as she handed him the folder that was tucked under her arm.

His eyes lit up at the implication. "You found something on the other bodies."

"On one of the other bodies," Carol corrected. "Victim #2."

Vaguely gesturing for her to sit down, he flipped open the thin manila folder and took out the photocopy Carol had made of the evidence list. It was a meticulous detail of every scrap of clothing, piece of jewellery, and any miscellaneous item on the victim. Tony's eyes went immediately to a highlighted line.

"Well that can't be a coincidence," he said.

"A cupid pin on the lapel, knowing what we know of the third murder?" Carol rhetorically asked. "No, I wouldn't think it was coincidence."

Tony frowned. "But you found nothing on the first victim?"

Carol shook her head. "Nope."

His frown deepened. "It's there, Carol, you just haven't found it yet."

"Tony, I've been poring over photos and evidence all afternoon. At risk of offending the pathologist team, I've checked and re-checked and re-checked their collection at the scene until my eyes wanted to fall out of my skull. Not to mention having to deal with a Brutus on my own team."

"Brutus?" Tony repeated as he tried to make the connection.

"Never mind," she replied. "I'm telling you, I didn't find anything."

"And I'm telling you it's there."

A frosty stalemate settled between them. It wasn't the first time they had disagreed on a particular point, and considering their natures, it wasn't destined to be the last. Tony's penchant for theory clashed with Carol's quest for fact, though each was inclined to concede a small measure of ground for the other. It was what made their professional relationship such a good one.

With a quickness that made Tony jump for the second time that day, Carol reached over and snatched the folder from his desk. "You can buy me dinner in exchange for your contribution to the shit day I've had," she said. Pushing back the cuff of her jacket, she glanced at her watch. "You've got that brilliant curry shop two streets over from your flat. I'll expect you there in an hour."

Before he had a chance to reply, she was gone, closing the door firmly but not forcibly, not conceding the point, but not ignoring his, either. He leaned back in his chair to give the ceiling a second chance.

--

As directed, Tony arrived at the curry shop an hour later- early in fact, in order to avoid stepping in it again with Carol. His timing was well chosen, because just as he sat down, she walked through the door. They made eye contact across the short space between then and she slid into the seat across from him.

"You're early," she noted.

"I enjoy my limbs attached to my body," he returned.

Ignoring his remark, she slipped off her coat and draped it on the back of her chair. Folding her arms on the table, she asked, "How's Mrs. Williams?"

"Hmm?"

"Mrs. Williams," Carol repeated. "It is Tuesday, yeah?" She laughed when she saw his look of surprise. "I am a cop, Tony. It's my job to notice things you know, despite what you might think on occasion."

He knew she was referring to their earlier clash, and rather than revisit it, he replied, "She's doing well. Not so sure about her cat, though." When she smiled, he was glad for his decision. The waiter came with water and menus, and, when he departed, Tony said, "When you left, I asked the ceiling if it knew what you meant by your Brutus remark."

She laughed again. "Any luck this time?"

"No," he shook his head sadly.

"You can tell your ceiling that it's Kevin," she said and, seeing Tony's expression, clarified, "My Brutus. Kevin wasn't happy about a decision I made today, and wasn't shy about letting me know about it, in a squad room of my officers."

Tony winced. "And how did you handle it?"

"Probably not as well as I could have," Carol admitted. "But he definitely got the point. I don't need my second in command undermining me, especially in front of everyone."

"No," he agreed. "Bad for the morale."

"Exactly."

"What exactly did Kevin take exception to?"

She took a sip of her water, and, over the rim of the glass, said, "He has his heart set on the theory that it's the same killer for all three murders." She set the glass down and waited for the answer she knew was coming.

"But it is the same killer."

"Let's set aside our disagreement on that issue for the moment. His stubbornness came into it well before we realized there was a connection. And while it might be all well and good for you to latch onto a theory without any substantial evidence -" she held up her hand to stop his rebuttal, "I don't have that luxury. I actually have people to answer to. And so does Kevin."

"Politics." Tony said the word as if it left a sour taste in his mouth.

"Exactly. And whether Kevin or I like it or not, part of the job is making sure our umbrella's strong enough for the shit that invariably falls if we're wrong."

"What a fantastic choice of words, Carol."

"Sorry," she smiled. "But it's hard enough to do it with the support of my team. I don't have the energy to deal with insubordination as well."

"Why do you think he's chosen now to be difficult?"

She shrugged. "Who knows? I suspect he might have his eye on the DCI job in Cranston. This case would certainly get the attention of the higher-ups."

"Cranston?" Tony said. "He'd leave Bradfield?"

"It's only 40 minutes away, Tony," Carol answered. "Just because you've grown accustomed to people being in the same place all the time doesn't mean people don't move on."

He looked intently at Carol, wondering if there was any personal meaning behind her words. Displeased with the possibility, he lifted the menu to cover the down turn of his mouth.

"What do you recommend?" he asked.

--


	3. Chapter 3

--

He spent the rest of the evening shaking off the unease of Carol's words and the gastronomic effects of the curry, and awoke the next morning trying to ignore the aftermath of both.

As he walked through the police room, Tony noticed no one he recognized made eye contact and any verbal greeting he received was limited to a word or two. Normally, he took no notice of such slights, but over the course of the years working with the police, he felt he had made progress when it came to his stunted social skills and had made, if not outright friends, then acquaintances with many of Carol's staff. He entered her office without announcement and dropped into his usual chair.

"What's with them?" he asked as he thumbed over his shoulder.

Carol's eyes opened only to send a stern look his way and she tossed a folded paper towards him. Her other hand gripped the telephone tightly to her ear as she took in whatever tirade Tony could faintly hear across the desk. Flicking open the paper and revealing the front page, he had a fair idea now what it was about.

"No, sir," she glumly answered. "Yes, of course I understand. I've already… yes, sir. Of course." With less force than Tony would have predicted, she placed the receiver back in its cradle and sat back. "Well?" she asked him, as if it covered everything.

He looked at the front page again. "My Bloody Valentine," he read aloud. Glancing up, he said, "The big boss thinks there's a leak in your office."

"Yep," she nodded. "I've already taken Kevin to the carpet about it."

"Ah, that would explain the morgue-like atmosphere out there."

"Which is in direct contrast to the noise level when I tore a strip off him, I'm sure," she sighed.

"You really think he's the leak?"

She shook her head. "No," she admitted, "and now I feel like shit."

"He does have a record of leaking information to the press, Carol," Tony reminded her.

"I know. Which is why I don't think he's doing it now. With or without the job in Cranston up for grabs, I can't imagine he'd be so stupid."

"So you feel badly because your treatment of Kevin was a knee-jerk reaction rather than one based on how you really felt."

Glowering, she said, "I hate it when you analyze me."

"Sorry," he apologized meekly. Waiting for it to settle, he then asked, "If not Kevin, then who?"

Carole wearily shrugged her shoulders. "Could be anyone. You see how many people are at a crime scene, despite our best efforts to keep personnel to a minimum. Anyone there with a mobile phone could have taken that photo. Officers at the scene, criminologists, pathologists, emergency people, detectives, clinical psychologists."

His eyes widened at the last item on her list. "It certainly wasn't me!"

Her laugh was warm and seemed to relax the room. "Give me your mobile."

Though puzzled, he obeyed. Digging into the numerous pockets of his jacket, he pulled out the small mobile and put it in Carol's outstretched hand. She flipped it open and pressed a few buttons until seemingly satisfied. Tony watched her intently, curious about her actions. It wasn't until he heard the simulated click of a lens closing and opening did he realize what she had done. 

"There are some cultures that believe taking a photo of someone steals their soul," he dryly noted.

Her mouth twitched in amusement and she turned the phone around for him to see. "Hit this button, then this one and you too can take a photo at a crime scene and sell it to the press."

"I didn't even know my mobile took photos."

"I know," she told him, "and that, among other things, is why I know it wasn't you." Snapping it closed, she handed it back to him. "I'll teach you how to text message next."

She glanced to her left, through the slits of the blinds that covered the window that looked into the squad room. Sighing, she stood up and smoothed her jacket down. "I suppose the requisite time for my words to sink in has passed. Now it's time for a bit of action." She looked down at him. "You coming?"

--

Every ear in the room heard her door open, but all hesitated at acknowledging her presence. Kevin had exited Carol's office twenty minutes ago, looking as pleased as a wet cat and no one cared to be next in line. Peripheral vision caught glimpses of Tony Hill taking perch on the corner of a vacant desk facing the white board as Carol scribbled unidentifiable words.

"All right, everyone," she called out as she looked around the room. "We've all seen the paper this morning, and I'm sure most of you heard the fallout between me and Kevin as well." She looked around to see she had the full attention of her officers. "I'll get back to that in a minute, but first, let's focus on what we have so far." She stepped to the side and pointed at the board. "As we all know, a card was found on the third victim. Yesterday, I went over the crime scene collection notes again." Pointing at the photo of Victoria Morrison, she revealed, "A cupid pin was listed on the collected items of the second victim."

"And the first victim?" Paula spoke up.

Freezing Tony's response with a look, Carol said, "Nothing that I could find. That doesn't mean they're not connected, but let's not limit ourselves to thinking that they are." She looked over at her second in command. "How did the cross-referencing go, Kevin?"

"Like the proverbial needle and haystack," he groused, and read off a notepad. "We've got 27 cases that tie the first two victims' husbands. Nineteen between the first and third victims. Eleven between the second and third. A grand total of two between them all." Before Carol could comment, he continued, "I've made some calls and will be checking out the two later today. But it doesn't sound too promising by the looks of it."

She nodded but didn't concede the point. "Right. Well we've got to start somewhere, yeah?" When no one answered, she added, "And if those don't pan out, start on the others, but work your way backwards from the smallest number of cases to the largest. I'm most interested in the connection between victims two and three."

"Do we have any kind of profile on this person yet?" Paula asked.

Staring intently at the board, it took Carol's prompt to get Tony's attention. "Hmm?" He realized Paula's query was his cue to talk. Turning on the desk top, he shrugged. "Young male, perhaps no older than 22 or 23 based on the fact they couldn't drag the bodies without difficulty." Because Carol had, in a roundabout way, conceded his point about the connections between all three, he decided to return the gesture. "Quite possibly a female, likely between 30 and 40, keeping within the age of her victims."

A voice called out from the back. "I thought Michelle Gallagher was in her 50's?"

Tony nodded. "True, but the first one can often be considered a kind of test run- they haven't yet established their pattern. Killing a woman in her 50's might have been considered less risky. And she was run down. The car gave the killer the opportunity to see if they could go through with it without having to worry about the proximity of doing it by hand."

"If it's a woman, she most likely isn't working alone," Carol said. "That's it, then." As everyone rose to get back to their tasks, Carol held up a hand. "About this situation with the press…" Everyone stopped. "The only comment we give anyone outside this room is 'no comment'. I don't care if it's your wife, your boyfriend, your postman, your butcher or the press. I don't care." She held the gaze of each person in the room. "Right. Get at it."

--

"What's got your attention, then?" Carol asked Tony when the group departed.

"I don't understand the significance of the holiday."

"Valentine's Day?"

"Yes."

"Do you mean as a holiday in general or the case in particular?"

He offered a small smile at her response. "As limited as I am when it comes to social cues, I have an idea of the societal importance of holidays." Pursing his lips, he verbally backtracked. "No. Let me hear your interpretation of the holiday."

Carol frowned, wondering where his line of thinking was going. However, years of experience taught her to simply go along with his train of thought, so she replied, "A holiday for lovers to express their feelings through cards, flowers, dinners, gifts and bad poetry."

"So what is it about these women that connects them to the killer? Lovers?"

Shaking her head, she replied, "I admit relationships aren't my forté, but these three women seem too different to spark an interest in one person. Maybe it's not the wives; what if the interest was in the husbands?"

"The women were a means to an end?"

"Could be," she shrugged. "The women were in the way."

"But then we go back to the same problem- wouldn't the men be too dissimilar?"

"Their jobs make them more alike than most," Carol replied. "Beyond that, I don't really know. Kevin!" she called out to the younger man. "You've got notes on the husbands, yeah?"

He stood up and walked over with his notepad. "I've gone past notes and have moved right into novel territory." Seeing Carol's withering look, he asked, "What in particular do you need to know?"

She grabbed the black marker and jotted down names, ages and work information as Kevin called it out. Details such as where they lived, how much they made, down to the vehicle they drove were hastily scribbled underneath the names of the victims. When she stepped back, the board revealed itself as a myriad of photos and black lines, arrows and question marks.

"Well, that clears things up," Kevin remarked. Catching that same unamused look from his boss, he pointed in the direction of his desk. "I'll be looking for a needle if you need me."

She turned her attention back to Tony and seeing the odd expression on his face, asked, "What is it?"

He shook his head. "Nothing," he replied, but continued regardless. Tapping the name under Pamela Moore's photo, he said, "I know this man."

"Greg Moore, the husband?"

"Yes. He's referred patients to me in the past."

"Are you close?"

"No," he shook his head to allay her sympathy. "I suppose it's just odd to have a name stand out."

"They're not just parts of a puzzle when you know them."

"I suppose not, no."

"So what do you know of him?"

He shook his head again. "Not much, I'm afraid. Our connection is purely professional. A face I recognize at a lecture or some annual meeting or other. He does a lot of work with families, children whose parents are going through a divorce, that sort of thing. In the event he feels they might need something more, he'll recommend an appointment with me and I've returned the gesture."

"Not everyone is granted special time on your couch?" Carol smiled.

"No, sometimes I'm just too busy helping the police."

Her smile grew into a laugh. "And we're forever in your debt." Back to the topic at hand, she asked, "What do you know about the wife?"

"Nothing," he answered. "I'd never met her, which is why I didn't recognize the photo."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

Tony furrowed his brow in thought. "Four months ago? Maybe six?"

"I don't suppose there was anything out of the ordinary about him?"

Rather than dismissing the question outright as a long shot, he scoured his memory for any clue, any recollection that might be of use. Unfortunately, as both had suspected, it was for naught.

"Sorry," he replied apologetically. "I simply didn't pay him any more attention beyond my societal requirements."

Brushing aside his apology without blame, she drolly remarked, "I suppose that's a small victory on its own." Tony's social awkwardness was near-legendary and he didn't have much ground to refute her comment. He did, however, respond with a hurt expression that Carol recognized as put on, and chose to ignore. "How about the other two husbands?"

He shifted his gaze back to the whiteboard and focussed intently on the names, as if pure concentration would create the one piece of evidence Carol needed. But as with her request for information regarding Greg Moore, Tony's recollection came up empty.

"Sorry," he repeated.

"It was a long-shot at best," Carol said. She sat beside him on the desk and folded her arms. They both looked at the whiteboard for several minutes, absorbing the seemingly random bits of information, hoping to find order in the disorder. When neither had a magical 'eureka!' moment, she turned to him. "I know it's a bit of a pain in the ass, but would you look over the cases Kevin found that connects the husbands? Maybe you'll see something we're overlooking?"

"Of course."

"Thanks. In the meantime, I'm going to take Paula and re-visit the husbands- maybe one of these names will mean something.

--

The two women stood on the doorstep of the imposing home, and it was Paula who captured the moment perfectly.

"I feel like a rube in Buckingham Palace."

Carol couldn't help but smile. Paula was right- everything about the place was immaculate, from the architecture to the grounds. Every point was a study in perfection, every blade of grass a botanical clone of the one beside it. Even the cherub statues seemed to look at the two officers in distain. Carol made a mental note to put herself moderately in debt and improve her wardrobe.

The heavy wooden door opened and a tall man, as immaculate as his surroundings, asked, "Yes?"

Holding out her identification, Carol introduced herself and her companion. "DCI Carol Jordan. DI Paula McIntyre. Mr. Gallagher?"

"Yes."

"Can we have a word?"

Rather than inviting them in, he simply asked, "What's this about?"

"We're investigating a possible connection between your wife's death and two recent homicides."

"Pamela Moore being one," he stated flatly. "I read the news. Vultures. What does this have to do with Michelle?"

"We're just following potential leads, Mr. Gallagher," Carol explained. "It seems you and the husbands of the other two victims happen to work in an occupation that has overlapped each other several times. We were hoping you might be able to help us- perhaps a name stands out from the cases that connect you?"

Paula offered him a list of names which he took reluctantly. Without a single glance, he said, "I'll have my clerk remind me of these files." Realizing his tone, he amended, "Sorry, but I literally have hundreds of files and it would be impossible for me to remember any of them on sight."

There was something in his voice that gave Carol pause, but rather than pursue it, she handed him her card. "I appreciate your time," she told him. "And please, feel free to call me at any time."

Dismissed by the closing of the door, Carol and Paula turned on the step.

"That went well," Paula drolly commented.

"Hopefully our fellow officer will be more helpful," Carol replied.

They walked down the long drive to the car and Paula took a moment to admire the gleaming Porsche that was as impressive as everything else around them. Carol caught the younger woman taking a picture of the vehicle with her mobile. Seeing the question in Carol's raised eyebrow, Paula shrugged. "I like exotic cars."

--


	4. Chapter 4

--

"God, I need a drink," were the first words to come out of Carol's mouth as she entered Tony's flat. She then kissed him on the cheek and walked past him into the kitchen.

"I'm fine, thank you for asking," he said to the empty space and was rewarded with the sound of her laughter from the other room.

He stopped in the doorway of his kitchen and as always, marvelled at the ease in which Carol made herself at home. In his home. Of course, she had been there enough times that it made sense she would know her way around, but something had shifted in the last two months that he couldn't quite put his finger on. She came earlier and stayed later, and there were times he'd realize- after the fact- that they had spent the entire evening talking about everything but work. Memories of his childhood were casually revealed and she reciprocated in kind. First loves and first heart breaks were laid out not as confessions but simply as conversations.

Their first kiss was 22 days ago, in the very place she had just kissed him on the cheek.

It had been initiated by Carol, of course, but once the surprise had worn off, he had certainly done his share of returning the gesture. Her lips were warm and soft pressed against his mouth, his tongue tentatively drawn out by hers. He felt her hands on his chest, tightly gripping fistfuls of his cotton T-shirt, and his arms could do nothing but circle around her waist and curl up her back. It felt so lazy and unhurried, as if time stretched out before them. But the blood that rushed to his head and the darkness in her eyes as they finally pulled away spoke otherwise of the moment. There was a clear feeling that they were both standing on the edge of something more consuming than a single kiss.

She had been the first to speak. Her lips so warm and soft, twitches slightly in amusement. "That was nice."

Words, so long his friend through the good and the bad in his life, left him at that moment. "Yes," was all he could muster.

Her mouth now curved upward into a full smile. "You know, had anyone else said that, I might be offended. Yet somehow, coming from you, it seems to be a glowing endorsement."

She had given him another, more chaste kiss, then left, leaving him bewildered, pleased and frustrated in equal measure.

Twenty-two days later and they had yet to sleep together, and Tony was surprised to find that bewilderment had fully taken over, not in response to what had happened, but what hadn't. As he watched her now, pouring their customary wine, he opened his mouth to speak, but as she turned to face him, the words caught in his throat.

"Tell me about your day," she said, making up for her earlier oversight.

The moment gone, he took the wine glass from her outstretched hand and turned slightly in the doorway. "Come. I've got something you might be interested in."

--

She took her familiar place at the end of his couch, tucked her feet under her and nursed her wine as she watched him perch beside her on the edge of the cushion. His arms out, he directed her attention to the scattered files and notes on the long coffee table.

"I was looking for a possible trigger in any of the cases that might have set these murders in motion," he began. "Nothing stood out until I realized I recognized four of the names that connected the husbands of victims two and three." He handed her a list of the names that jarred his memory.

"That's brilliant," Carol thanked. "How did you recognize them?"

He sat back with his own glass of wine. He brought it up to his lips but brought it down again, untouched. "They were all my patients at one time or another."

"You're joking," she said, then realizing the improbability, corrected herself. "Of course you're not. How odd." He nodded at her remark, but said nothing more. It was his silence that drew her suspicion. "There's more going on in that brain of yours. Spit it out. What's up?"

Bringing the glass up to his lips again, and this time he finished the motion. He savoured the distinctive edge of the alcohol before determining the best way to respond. His theory sounded ridiculous even to his own ears, but he knew he'd be doing Carol a disservice if he didn't put it out for her to consider. Finally deciding on the most plausible opening, he asked, "Do you know what my middle name is?"

The query seemed so completely out of the blue to Carol that she pulled back slightly, confused at the question. "Your middle name?" she asked in return. "No, I don't."

"Valentine."

Her lips pursed in amusement. "Really."

"It's a family tradition for the first born son to carry the surname of their grandmother. It was my father's mother's maiden name."

"Anthony Valentine Hill," Carol said as if testing the way her mouth formulated the syllables. Then she stopped cold. "Valentine."

"Yes."

Her eyes widened in surprise, and she looked from his face to the list in her hand and back again. "Why didn't you say something sooner??"

Catching the edge of accusation in her tone, his voice raised slightly in defense. "Because I'm not vain enough to immediately assume I'm the lynchpin in a murder investigation!" With a deep breath to soften the harshness, he added, "It just never occurred to me."

The fire had flared then quickly died.

"No, I'm sorry," Carol apologized. "Had I known your middle name, I'm not sure I would have put the two together, either. We both made the obvious connection. It may not have been the right one, but it wasn't faulty logic." She looked down at the list. "Right. So let's work out this possibility. You're the lynchpin. Why?"

"About ten months ago, I sat down with Julie to determine which of my clients genuinely needed my services and who might be better served by a social worker." He tilted his chin towards the paper in Carol's hand. "All were referred to Greg Moore."

Carol nodded. "Okay. So this person is obviously pissed at you for your… what? Betrayal? Abandonment? Why manifest it through these other men, and more importantly, why through the wives?"

"A transference of anger towards me to these men?" Tony hypothesized. "Did the killer think these men in some way ignored them the way I did? Did the husbands remember any of the names today?"

"Bob Gallagher told me he'd have his clerk draw up the files and he'd have a look. Victoria Morrison's husband had a better memory, as most police officers do." He smiled at her sly compliment to herself. "Unfortunately, I think it's too good- he remembered 35 cases out of the 38 that connects him to the other two men. I was hoping I'd get a lead from one of the two so I wouldn't have to put Greg Moore through another line of questioning so soon after his wife's murder, but it looks like I've got no other choice. I'll do that in the morning."

Tony swirled the red liquid in his glass. "Someone made a connection with these men that was somehow severed or threatened, either by actual circumstance or simply in their own mind. Were the wives seen as rivals?"

Carol pondered his thoughts for a moment. "So we're thinking the killer is a woman after all?"

"Nothing's for certain," he admitted, "but in all likelihood, yes."

"Well that shortens your list by one." As her mind settled the facts into new possibilities, a thought occurred to her. "What about Michelle Gallagher?" His answer was a puzzled look. "Victim number one," she reminded him. "You said these names connect victims two and three. Have you changed your mind about all three being connected?"

"I was never completely sold on that theory," he said, and watched for her reaction over the rim of his glass.

She tossed her head back and laughed. "Right!" As her laughter died away, she rubbed her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm trying to sort all this out. So what we might be dealing with is two separate cases- the Gallagher death on its own, and the last two murders together, yeah? And you're the connection between victims two and three."

"Well, me and the killer," he added.

"Right," she said again. "If we go with that theory, is there a way we can determine the next victim? Will there be a next victim?"

"Now you're sounding like me," Tony said with a small smile. "Isn't it your job to work with what has been rather than what might be?" She conceded the point with a good-natured shrug and he went on, "Let's look at these three names and maybe we won't have to look any further than that."

"You're right. Which is why I expect you down at the station first thing. You can share this theory with everyone else and we can go through the three names together."

He gave a mock salute. "Yes, guv."

"Cheek," she said in return. "You should be more contrite- I came here hoping to find a solution to all this and all you've done is added another theory to the pile."

"I believe that's in the fine print of my job description."

"I'm revising that immediately." They shared a laugh and she stood up, stretching her arms above her head. "I should go; it's going to be a long day tomorrow."

Had he been any other man, he would have taken that as an opening to re-visit his earlier attempt at addressing the elephant in the room between them. Instead, he stood with her and nodded, "Of course."

They walked together to the door and he watched as she slipped into her shoes. Later, he would admire the workings of the subconscious- when she stood upright, he somehow found himself mere inches from her. His eyes flicked down to her mouth, then back up to her eyes, hazel mirrors that held just enough playfulness to instil a measure of boldness in him, rather than elicit the self-consciousness that always seemed to plague him.

The kiss was clearly telegraphed, but she waited until she felt his lips on hers before she responded. The tentativeness of their first kiss remained, but it lingered less the second time round. His left hand went around her waist quicker this time, and the right found a new path, brushing up her throat and through her hair. Her hand found its place on his chest and the other cupped his right elbow, encouraging his exploration. It was the sound of her body softly hitting the door behind her that broke the moment. He made a motion to pull away but she held him with a gentle firmness. He watched as she revelled in the feel of his body against hers, and he felt his immediate response. Again he attempted to separate and again she was having none of it; instead, silently insisting he have no shame in his body's reaction.

She held his gaze with hers and when she saw the awkwardness flicker away, she whispered, "That was nice."

Her use of the refrain from their first kiss banished whatever uncertainty remained, and his crooked grin was easy and warm. "Yes," he answered, replaying his role.

"I would stay," she said, "have given thoughts to staying in the past… but there just hasn't been a good time."

"You don't have to explain, Carol."

"No?"

"No," he assured. "Our jobs always seem to get in the way of things."

"I was thinking more along the lines of you not having an extra toothbrush," she joked.

His grin returned. "You've checked?"

"I have." Smiling, she took her jacket and kissed him again. Not wanting him to think she was entirely flippant about their situation, she said, "It won't always be like this, you know."

He appreciated her attempt, but knew now was not the time to explore the many layers of what was between them, so instead he replied, "You mean the toothbrush, or…?"

She laughed and opened the door. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, Carol."

--


	5. Chapter 5

--

"Good morning, everyone," Carol greeted as her team gathered in the room, their eyes half-open, brains bereft of coffee due to the early morning summoning of their boss. This was not missed by Carol who quipped, "I know most of you are still asleep, but I felt it important to get a start on this as soon as we could." She stepped to the side, Tony's cue to join her. He grabbed a pen from the desk in order to contain his natural habit of fidgeting while speaking in front of others, then began.

"Carol and I discussed something last night that could be nothing. Or, it could mean everything." Several bleary faces sharpened to attention. "I have a connection with victim #3, Pamela Moore. I know her husband, Greg, through professional circles. Four of the cases that connect Greg Moore to the husband of victim #2 were originally my cases."

The information sank in, then a voice called out from the back. Six-year veteran DI Mark Hendry asked, "Coincidence? Isn't everyone connected by six people or less?"

Tony nodded. "So says Dr. Stanley Milgram. Unfortunately, in this case, there's a bit more to it than simple 'small world' phenomena." The room waited expectantly. "My middle name is 'Valentine'."

The few laughs this bit of information elicited were quickly muffled, not by courtesy but by realization.

"Shit," Kevin muttered in amazement.

"Indeed," Tony agreed.

"I'm a bit lost," Hendry confessed. "Four of the patients that connect the husbands of victims two and three were your patients as well. The card and the pin left behind refer to you, not the holiday. But why? Why you? Is it a matter of the killer trying to impress you?"

"The card seemed more like a jilted lover than an eager student," Paula said.

"I agree," Carol concurred. "These four cases were all patients of Dr. Hill who were summarily referred to Greg Moore within the last 12 months. We're working with the theory that one of these four felt betrayed or discarded in some way by the good doctor." She looked in his direction for a moment and offered a quick smile.

"Why not take out that disappointment on Tony?" Kevin asked. "No offense, Dr. Hill, but we'd have at least two less deaths."

"One if you think the Gallagher case is a separate murder," Paula interjected.

"Which takes us to another point," Hendry reminded them. "Discarding the whys of the last two murders, what is our position on the Gallagher murder?"

Carol held up a hand to keep the discussion in line. "First of all, I don't want to get bogged down in the 'whys', beyond how it may solve this case. We're getting a bit into Dr. Hill's field of expertise. If it helps us determine a motive, fine, but let's try and stay focussed on the facts at hand. We've got four cases to look at- three if we go with the assumption that the killer is a woman, which appears to be the most likely scenario in this theory. We'll do a check on these three women as we would with any other suspect. Background checks, current whereabouts and the like. Who knows? As Tony said, it could mean nothing. But we've got to consider it. As for Michelle Gallagher, as you all know, we've been running a second investigation concurrent with the one Kevin has been up to his eyeballs in." She acknowledged her second-in-command with a tilt of her head. "We're open to the idea that it might be an independent case and equally willing to accept that it might be connected to these two recent murders. We're not committing to any theory- even Dr. Hill's- until we know for certain."

"I'm not sure if I'm clearing things up or mudding the waters even more, but I've got a theory on the Gallagher case," Paula offered.

"Go on," Carol encouraged.

"Remember I took that photo at the house yesterday?" Carol nodded. "Well, it wasn't just because I liked the car. There was something that bothered me about it, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it at the time."

"And now?"

"I didn't lie about liking exotic cars. I got that from my father." She saw Carol's patience fading, so quickly got to the point. "I showed him the photo. The bumper isn't factory made by Porsche. It's a different brand."

Considering the manner of Michelle Gallagher's death, the inference was immediate, but Kevin wanted to hear it out loud. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," Paula went on, "something had to happen in order to get that bumper replaced. Believe me, if you could have seen that place, you'd know image means more to Bob Gallagher than anything. He was probably more concerned about fixing the car than bothering to make sure it was done properly."

"Particularly if he needed to cover a murder," Hendry added.

"Well done, Paula," Carol praised. "Find out when and where he got the repair done and see where that leads."

The younger woman beamed. "I'm already on it, guv. There are only five shops in the Bradfield area that deals in exotic car repairs. I'm just waiting to hear back."

"Right. So here's the order of the day. Let's work on finding out the backgrounds of these cases that connect Dr. Hill to the murders. Then I want them brought in for an informal questioning."

"If you had to choose, Dr. Hill, who stands out as the most likely suspect?" Kevin asked.

"I'd prefer not to taint anyone's perception by making a guess." Despite his answer, he frowned and continued, "The thing is, none of these women seem to fit any criteria needed to commit these crimes. Martha Brooks is a 47-year old who was abused by her husband. No doubt that's what connected her to Officer Morrison, husband of victim #2. But she gave no indication of repressed violence or interest in developing a substitute relationship with another man. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"Could she have transferred her rage from her abusive husband to these other men?" Kevin asked.

"No, I don't think so," Tony disagreed. "From the notes in her file, she's been getting back on her feet, finding a measure of independence. The police report indicates the visit was to prevent the husband from breaking down the door to her new flat. So it seems she's made attempts to move on, away from the male figure."

When he said nothing further, Carol prompted him. "What about the other two cases?"

"Hmmm? Oh, right. Lindsay Jenkins is a 28-year old single mother with three children. Neighbours called the police several times to complain about the weekend parties and apparent neglect of the children. And Kim Greenhaven had a drug dependency that put her in and out of prison. I recommended a very well-respected addictions counsellor as well as a good social counsellor to help her get out of the cycle."

Hendry ventured a theory. "Maybe she fell off the wagon and killed the wives in some kind of revenge scenario- one against the man who failed to help her and the one who put her in prison."

Now it was Kevin's turn to voice his disagreement. "Why not the addictions counsellor, too?"

Hendry shrugged. "Maybe he's next."

Tony shook his head in an attempt to diffuse this line of thinking. "These murders are too well planned. The card and the pin, these things take foresight. Someone under the influence of a mind-altering substance is going to kill without thought to order and preparation. No, this took someone with a clear mind."

"But not necessarily a sane one," Hendry quipped.

His comment was met with a steely gaze from Tony and Carol decided it was a good time to step in. "Kevin, you know what to do?"

He nodded. "Follow up on these three women, bring them in later on and see what shakes loose."

"Get the very chatty Slater and Borelli to here to help you," she told him, indicating the other two officers in the room.

"Sorry, guv," the aforementioned Slater apologized. "Haven't had my cuppa yet."

"Well go on then," Carol smiled. "Then get at it." To Paula, she instructed, "See if you get any leads from those shops and see if you can figure out a motive. If Bob Gallagher killed his wife, what was in it for him? Hendry, you can help her with it." In light of his flippant attitude towards the possible suspects involved in the murder cases, she felt it best to keep him away from any interaction with them. Tony recognized the tactic and not for the first time admired her ability to immediately gauge the tone of a situation and determine the best course of action for all.

As the room cleared, the officers summoned by files and coffee, he let her know her gesture didn't go unnoticed. "Not everyone is as enlightened as you, Carol," he commented lightly.

She knew immediately what he meant and echoed his tone in her retort. "I know. That's why I sent him to spend some time with the tedious task of paperwork." More serious, she said, "I wasn't about to let him interview anyone outside his realm of 'normal'."

"Ah, normal…" Tony wistfully trailed off.

"Don't start," she halted him. "We've got more important things to do."

"Such as?"

"We need to talk to Greg Moore."

--

"Tony," the forlorn man in the doorway said, slightly startled. The information had listed his age as 41, but he looked a good decade older.

"Hello, Greg."

Carol slowly opened her warrant card and gently said, "Sorry to bother you, Mr. Moore, but I was wondering if we could have a word?"

The widower blinked several times and shook his head as if trying to focus on the here and now. "Of course," he replied, though his slight disconnection was still apparent. Stepping aside, he gestured them in.

The house was cool and quiet. Nothing rose above the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner- no television, no radio. A large grey cat curled its way around Carol's ankles and its purr seemed loud in the silent house.

She reached down and petted the feline. "Nelson won't be pleased I've come home with another cat's fur on me," she smiled. Looking up at Greg, she clarified, "I've got a cat named Nelson."

"She was always Pamela's cat. Misses the female companionship, no doubt," the older man blankly surmised. Vaguely pointing in the direction of what must have been the kitchen, he asked, "Can I get you something to drink? Tea, coffee? A bottle of water?"

Carol stood up and answered, "No, thank you."

"Then what can I do for you? I'm assuming this isn't a personal call, Tony." He led them into the living room and waited until they sat down before he did the same.

"I wanted to talk to you about a few cases we have in common," Tony began.

"And you had to bring the police for that?"

Deciding honesty was indeed the best policy, Carol said, "We're working on a theory that connects Dr. Hill, you and another man to the person who murdered your wife, Mr. Moore."

He pulled back sharply. "What?"

Tony leaned forward to make up the distance. "Greg, there are four cases that connect us all. Four cases I referred to you and subsequently crossed paths with another man whose wife was also murdered."

Moore frowned, his confusion evident. "Do you think you're next? You don't have a wife, so…"

'So much for honesty,' Carol thought, as she decided to let the man believe his theory rather than trying to explain Tony's real involvement. "It's an avenue we have to explore," she said, hoping Tony would catch on.

True to form, he played along. "Though percentages are against us, we think it's likely the killer is a woman, Greg."

"A woman?" he repeated, eyes wide in surprise.

"I wondered if any of the cases might jar your memory to anything that was off with the client, or even remotely unusual."

"I can try."

Tony nodded his appreciation. "Lindsay Jenkins."

Greg's eyes drifted to the ceiling as he searched his memory. "Lindsay Jenkins," he echoed.

"Twenty-eight year old single mother of four," Carol gently supplied.

"Ah, yes," Moore replied in remembrance. "She was just a child herself with four of her own. The usual cycle- her family was on the dole most of her life, her mother gave birth to her when she was young, Lindsay couldn't find a way to get out of it. I helped her get the required credits needed for college. She's taking evening courses, the last I heard. I haven't spoken to her in, oh, at least six months."

"How about Kim Greenhaven?" Tony continued.

Moore's brow furrowed. "Drug dependency, wasn't it?" When he saw Tony nod, he said, "Another success story as far as I know. You should probably speak with James Woodward- he's her addictions counsellor. I know he still sees her once a month."

"When's the last time you saw her?" Carol asked.

"About seven months ago? Once we were able to work out the pathology of her dependency- the feelings of inadequacy in relation to her peers, her relationship with her mother- she was able to move on to the chemical aspect of things. That's where Woodward comes in."

Carol felt a twinge of guilt for the part of her that wished one of these women hadn't been so successful in their turnaround. As a police officer, happy people rarely made good suspects, and her list was now down to one. "Martha Brooks," she ventured, torn between her hope as a human and her hope as a cop.

Both Tony and Carol were surprised at the genuine laughter the name elicited from the mourning husband. "Martha," he said, as if relieved to have been given a moment of levity. "I last heard from Martha two months ago, after her husband was arrested and she moved out of Bradfield to the sunny shores of Spain. She sent me a postcard saying, 'Please don't take this the wrong way, but I don't need you anymore. In fact, you can tell the rest of your gender to piss off!'" He smiled at the memory. "Once she got on her feet and realized her own self-worth, there was no stopping her."

Carol couldn't help but smile, too. "Good for her."

"Yes, it is," Moore agreed. "That's it? Just those three?"

"Just those three," Tony sighed, knowing they were back at the starting line again.

"You said there were four cases. What was the fourth one?"

"Ronald Hedger," Tony supplied, almost off-handedly.

Moore's face immediately darkened and his smile dropped away. "The man who murdered his wife?"

Now it was Tony's turn to pull back in surprise. "Wife-abuser," he corrected.

"Yeah, who moved up to killer last year," Greg informed mirthlessly. "Didn't you read the papers?"

Silence wafted throughout the room as the information settled. It was Carol who caught on first. "The murder-suicide in the west end? But they never gave his name in the paper."

"That's because they had an eight-year old son. Information that can reveal the identity of a minor can't be published by the press," Moore reminded them.

"An eight-year old son and a 21-year old daughter who happened to find the two bodies," Tony added, the realization dawning on his face.

The implication was clear. "Shit," Carol whispered.

--

They left the Moore residence with promises of keeping the man informed of any development in the case, though it seemed quite clear the biggest development had already been revealed.

"Well, I was right," Tony said. "It was a woman. Just not any of the three I thought."

Carol shook away his self-rebuke as she sped through the streets of Bradfield to the address Paula had given her over her mobile. "I'm not interested in how right you are. It was one of the four cases, just as you suspected. We would have gotten round to the Hedger case once we realized the other three didn't pan out."

"Mmmm," he replied, unconvinced.

She glanced over and smiled at his petulance. "We're fairly certain Connie Hedger's the one, yeah?"

This tiny opening allowed the self-confidence to return, just as she intended. "Absolutely," he said. "By failing her father, we all failed her mother. Me, Greg Moore, Andy Morrison. By not rehabilitating the husband, we killed the wife."

"Tony…"

"I know. But that's how she feels. And because I'm unmarried, the only way she could punish me was to draw me in through the pin and the card."

"One good reason not to take the plunge, I suppose." When she chanced another glance, she found his gaze looking back. A flush stained her cheeks and she returned her attention to the road. "Looks like this is the place," she said, thankful for the distraction.

--

It didn't take long for the 22-year old to close the file on at least two murder investigations. In a span of 15 minutes alone in an interrogation room with Tony, she went from defiant to relief to guilt. She removed the clothes of the victims, she told him, for no other reason than she thought the police would link it to the death of Michelle Gallagher and throw them off her path. As Tony had suggested to Carol, Connie's motivation was based in anger- anger that no one had prevented the tragedy. For her, it wasn't about a father who was beyond rehabilitation, but three men who failed to do their jobs. In a way, Tony couldn't blame her.

"What?" Carol asked incredulously when he shared this thought with her.

"I'm not excusing the murders, Carol," he said. "But I can see why she would think the way she did. One man fell through the cracks that three men are trained to seal up, as it were. I passed her father along to another man who couldn't help him. And the police are supposed to protect us, aren't they? Constable Morrison visited the Hedger home six times in the last twelve months."

"His hands were tied by the system."

"Oh, I know," he replied. "I don't fault him at all. But imagine being a 21-year old who walks in to find your mother and father dead on the living room floor. The blame has to go somewhere, doesn't it? Some trauma survivors ask themselves, 'Am I to blame?' Others ask, 'Who's to blame?' Both are valid responses given the situation."

As it often was, where Tony saw the tree, Carol saw the forest. "Unfortunately, at least two other families had to suffer as well. And what about her poor brother? He's nine years old and has to grow up with the knowledge that not only did his father kill his mother and commit suicide, but that his sister killed two people. You'd better clear your calendar for that young man."

He sighed in sad agreement.

Knocking on the doorframe to Carol's office, Paula didn't wait for a response. She held up her notepad and smiled. "I do believe we've killed two birds with one stone today," she proudly claimed.

Carol chose not to point out the inappropriateness of the expression and simply raised an eyebrow. "Bob Gallagher?"

"In one, Chief. Tracked down the shop that repaired his Porsche. Seems as if they like to keep the old parts and refurbish them for re-sale. Too much time has passed to hope for DNA, but I've sent in chrome chips from the bumper to match up against the chips found on Mrs. Gallagher's body. The lab's put a rush on it and we could have the results as early as next week."

Despite the apparent good news, Carol wasn't one to pin all her hopes on one piece of evidence. "I hope there's more. Motive, perhaps?"

"Oh, just the usual," Paula replied, feigning nonchalantness. "Michelle Gallagher filed for divorce on the grounds of infidelity. According to her solicitor, Bob Gallagher tried to use his own law connections to railroad the petition, but the pictures she sent to her lawyer trumped everything."

"Caught with his hand in the cookie jar, was he?" Tony asked.

Paula grinned. "In more ways than one."

"Why wasn't this investigated six months ago? Any copper worth his salt suspects the spouse first," Carol said.

Paula shrugged. "It wasn't our case in the first place. When we took over, the officer originally in charge 'forgot' to add his notes."

Carol shook her head in disbelief. "Typical pissing contest."

The younger woman nodded. "That and the fact that the Morrison murder happened only two months later, which took the spotlight off the husband."

"Everyone thought it was a serial killer," Carol said, and made a point to look at Tony.

"Honest mistake," he defended sheepishly. "He took the clothes off to hide the evidence, and Connie Hedger took the clothes off to make it look like it was connected to the first murder."

"Good work, Paula," she praised the woman. "I don't think Bob Gallagher is going anywhere soon, but once the news gets out about Connie Hedger, we'll have to set up a few officers to keep an eye on him until the DNA comes back."

"Understood, boss."

As she watched Paula leave, she leaned back in her chair and gave a contented sigh. "Two cases solved in one day. That's got to be a record."

"That calls for some kind of celebration," Tony declared. "I bought a new bottle of wine yesterday."

She closed her eyes and smiled. "That sounds lovely."

He watched her like this, and perhaps it was conceit, but he was sure he was the only one granted these moments, when her guard was down; when she felt safe enough to let her guard down. Before he lost his nerve, he hastily added, "And a new toothbrush."

-end.


End file.
